


Once upon a time

by Cortesia



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Not Happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-16 02:04:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5809273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cortesia/pseuds/Cortesia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Once upon a time in a far away land, there was a knight."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once upon a time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Blackbeyond](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackbeyond/gifts).



> This is not a happy ending. Mentions suicide and deals with character death. Don't read if that's not for you.

While every fallen Kingsman was remembered in their own way, the organization always memorialized them in three specific ones: the toast, drunk right after a Knight was confirmed dead; a service, attended by whomever could attend, held on the grounds of the mansion before a small wall bearing names that would fall into obscurity; and a portrait. Every fallen Knight received a portrait to hang in the walls of HQ in perpetuity to remind others of their fallen forebears. James Spencer, formerly Lancelot, was no exception. On the one-year anniversary of his demise his portrait was unveiled, hanging in a hallway leading to the canteen, known by those that called him friend as one of his favorite places.

 

It hung during Eggsy’s second trial to become Galahad; it hung during Harry’s return from the dead and eventual accession as Arthur. New recruits and old Kingsmen walked past it daily, some brushing past the canvas delicately, others ignoring the smirking man staring down at them from behind an oak frame. But there was always one man who always stopped, even for just a moment, to brush his fingertips across the paint-covered surface. Even during the most heated of arguments with Merlin or Arthur, Alastair Morton, known to the others as Percival, would stop by the painting, look his long-dead husband in the eye and brush a careless finger across the brush-stroked hand that rested near the frame’s edge. No one stopped him, and no one questioned it. Even during those most heated arguments, whomever Percival happened to be debating would pause as well in deference to Kingsman’s most well-hidden but most deeply run love stories. And though Eggsy swore he and Harry would eventually give Alastair and James a run for their money as most passionate love story in Kingsman’s ranks, even he could see that the quiet man who stood in front of a painting for just a brief moment every day was one who had known the greatest love of his life and lost him in turn.

 

And as it always does, time passed. New recruits came and went, and new faces joined their ranks. And though stories of past Knights always had a way of reaching the ears of newer ones, the former Lancelot was no longer in the forefront of their memories. And certainly, the newer Knights didn’t realize that the quiet older man among their number was the former Lancelot’s husband and the now-Lancelot’s father. So when stories of the foppish, silly man were told around the proverbial campfire, the newest among the Kingsmen though him just another foolish posh swot who had gotten what was coming to him. Stories of his humor and his jests were exaggerated into comedic idiocy; no tales of his heroism and bravery stood out against the near-legends of the Galahads and their tumultuous beginnings. And as it always does, where there was once respect and honor, derision and meanness crept in.

 

Stories shared with recruits took on the cast of cautionary tales, a reminder not to get too high in one’s horse lest one end up as the former Lancelot. And despite the urgings and warnings of Merlin and the now-older Knights, the receding memory of James Spencer was one of mockery and eye-rolling.

 

And so as it goes, one morning the very portrait of the former Lancelot hung with a new adornment for all to see. The latest recruit class featured a second group of technical staff recruits, and they were involved in a long and elaborate prank war with each other. And when the agent-recruits decorated Merlin’s door with tinsel and glittery puff paint for Valentine’s day, the tech-recruits deemed it necessary to fight back. And there was one Kingsman agent who had been, as they had been told, _asking for it._

 

The halls of HQ always bustled with some chatter or noise; either agents talking about their latest missions, technical staff discussing with wild gesticulation their latest projects, or even the maintenance and support staff placing friendly wagers on the Arsenal match or what agent was sleeping with whom. And though the youngest members of Kingsman’s employees continued their daily bickering none the wiser, the older members knew something to be wrong when they came into work. As if a charged wire were left on, the air seemed electric with something unforgiving. When Merlin was called into Arthur’s office, Galahad and Lancelot already present, he did so quickly and with no trace of humor on his face. He said nothing to his king or his comrades, simply turning on a screen and watching the others for their reactions.

 

Eggsy swore and slammed a fist into the warm wood of Harry’s; Roxy’s hand flew to her mouth and tears threatened to spill down her lovely cheeks. Harry… Harry sat stone faced as he took in the sight before him.

 

A live feed, clearly from one of the many security cameras, showcasing the devastation Percival had wrought on the recruit teams. Both were present in the sparring ring, though “present” could not be further from the truth. All in all, nearly twenty members of the combined recruit teams lay bleeding and shamefaced on the mats, some dabbing at broken noses with bloodied T-shirts, others trying to revitalize the recruit who landed sharply on the ground in front of them in a daze. And Percival stood before them, the final recruit from within the agent pool trying vainly to land a strike on the poised and quiet man. But what had caused the swearing and gasp and the stony silence was what was visible from beyond the mat: the framed portrait of Lancelot, Percival’s beloved husband, defaced and torn, the canvas flapping limply in its frame, splashes of neon color visible across the oil paint.

 

The four watched quietly as Percival sent the last pup sprawling across the floor. He shook out his suit coat, finger-combed his hair back into place, and glanced up at the security camera. He gave it a short nod, his face as placid as ever despite the pain hidden in his eyes. He turned back to the recruits and simply stared at them all, disappointment and grief written in every tensed line of his body. Merlin tapped something and sound filled the office. The recruits were chattering at Percival trying to determine why he had summarily beaten them all senseless, but fell silent when the somber man raised a hand.

 

“Once upon a time in a far away land, there was a knight. He was brave and he was strong and he was well-liked by his peers at the castle where they served. But he was lonely and he was quiet and he was shy. There were no maidens left to save, no dragons left to slay. And while evil always returns to the land after a long period, that time was still far away. And so the knight filled his days with practice. Solitude and practice. But before the world began to waken new evils into itself, a new knight came to the castle. The new knight was the direct opposite of the first; he was bold and splashy; quick to joke and slow to truly anger. He brought with him tales both false and true, woven together to paint stories as lurid as they were fantastic. He charmed the women and snared the men, and every knight in castle wanted him or wanted to be him. His laughter could ring out like a bell at any time, and every time it did, the people in the castle loved him even more.

 

“And the shy knight was no exception. But he was quiet and he was plain and he was just himself. He had no title or great beauty. He had no treasure or land to sway the favors of the laughing knight. He had only his sword and his faithfulness, and though he counted among the castle many friends, he wanted none so deeply as he did the laughing knight. Even the old king, a bastard known to all though hidden under a veneer of wealth and gentility, could see the longing for the laughing knight in the shy knight’s heart. And to the shy knight’s horror, the laughing knight could see it too.

 

“But he did not laugh at the shy knight. He smiled at him, and took his hand and kissed it. And he told the shy knight that he loved him and that no matter what happened to them, he would always love him, shyness and quiet and all. And though the years passed, and the other people in the castle came and went, the laughing knight stayed true to his promise. He and the shy knight had a small family, a little girl they could call their own who dreamed of fighting dragons like her fathers. They had friends, the purest knight with the wicked tongue and the magician who kept them all safe despite his own loneliness.

 

“But as time passed, the wickedness in the heart of the king grew, and he could no longer be sated with cruelty to his knights and his servants. He dreamt of a darker, crueler world. And he found himself a magician of his own, a man of science and spite who had a black knight to guard him while he worked his evils. And together, the king and the dark magician and the black knight lured the laughing knight from the castle and killed him.

 

“The little girl, who was full grown, took up her slain father’s sword and with the pure knight and his fairest squire and the magician who kept them all safe, ventured forth to slay the king and the dark magician and the black knight. The shy knight remained behind, too lost to his grief to slay the dragons he had sworn to defend against. And when the pure knight fell to the dark magician and the black knight, his faithful squire sought revenge, and killed the cruel king who had caused such calamity. He too took up his master’s sword, and went with the little girl and the magician and they slew the great dark dragon who was hiding in the skin of the magician and his black knight. The little girl flew to the stars to stop their spells and the squire took the pure knight’s sword and put it through the heart of the great dragon. The magician held off the hordes of ghouls that served the dark magician and cast a spell that revealed the treachery of those who had colluded with the dragon to the world. Soon again, love and light and peace were returned to the world.

 

“And though the wishes of the squire were heard and the pure knight who he loved was returned to them as a fair king and consort, the wishes of the little girl and the shy knight were not. All that remained of the laughing knight was his sword and name, his little family, and his memory. A year and a day after he was slain by the evil king, the laughing knight’s face was given back to the shy knight by the magician, through an enchanted picture that spoke softly to the shy knight and his little girl, and would smile at them when no one was looking. And though his memory faded over the years that came, the shy knight and the little girl and the squire and the pure knight-who-was-now-king and the magician never forgot.

 

“But as these things go, darkness crept back into the world and soon, into the castle itself, and into the hearts of the people there. And though the laughing knight was not forgotten, he was no longer beloved by any but his small family and his old friends. His portrait no longer spoke softly to the shy knight, and his eyes never darted and his lips never curled into a smile when he saw the little girl. Because it was the light and love of the castle and her inhabitants that kept his magic growing. And when darkness crept back in, as it always does, the magic faded and the shy knight was all alone again.”

 

Percival stopped, his voice having never risen above the calm tone he always used, and looked at the recruits. He glanced back up at the security camera, and left the training room, the group of confused and injured recruits behind him, none daring to speak or move. The limp edges of the slashed canvas fluttered in the softly blowing gymnasium air, no laugh or joke to be heard from within. Merlin stopped the feed, and turned back to the grim party beside him. Roxy’s eyes were red, and Eggsy’s face was a storm of roiling emotion. Harry simply looked down at his hands, and up at Merlin.

 

“Throw them all out. Every last one of them. Find new recruits.”

 

And the magician, though tired and aged in his own right, followed the wishes of his king, and cast out the younglings and their darkness. And though his time as magician was nearing it’s end, he still had enough magic to cast one last spell.

 

The portrait was hung once again, its magic restored, and the twinkling eyes of the laughing knight followed the people in the castle once more. But the laughing knight never again could see the eyes of the shy knight standing before him, for a portrait cannot see that which hangs on the wall next to it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> As always, you can find me at awesomehartwintrash.tumblr.com.


End file.
